Omaha's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Omaha read the invitation three times before she admitted it was not hers. The name on the silver card belonged to a dancer who had drowned two weeks ago in the flooded district. Someone at The Pink Pony Club had left the card on her dressing table like a joke. Omaha turned it under the purple lamp. The moon crest shimmered, then faded when the light shifted. A fake. A good one, but a fake. The masquerade in Lacuna happened once every hundred years, and the winner took the moonlit crown. Omaha had trained for it since she was old enough to keep a beat. She needed a real invitation by moonrise tomorrow, or the courts would not let her past the gate. She climbed the back stairs to Velvet Mirage's lounge before her nerve could cool. Velvet sat on a low couch, sorting envelopes by weight. She did not look up when Omaha slid the fake across the table. "I already know," Velvet said. "A girl brought it in this morning and asked me to bless it. I told her no." Omaha pressed her palms flat on the wood. "I need a real one." Velvet finally lifted her eyes. "Real ones are spoken for. But one holder is drunk in a boat right now, and she owes me a favor she has been dodging for a year." She named the holder: Marina Soleil. Omaha's tail flicked once. Marina sold information to anyone with coin, and she had cheated Omaha twice at cards. Velvet slid a folded slip across the table with a dock number written on it. "Go tonight. Bring something she wants more than the invitation." Omaha found Marina asleep in a small boat tied at the dock, a bottle rolling at her feet. Omaha climbed in without asking. She set down a sealed envelope from Velvet's lounge and a bundle of club chips worth a month of rent. Marina cracked one eye open. "You want the card." "I want the card." Marina laughed, then coughed. She fished the invitation from inside her bikini top and held it up between two fingers. "Velvet's mark is on that envelope. That means she is calling my favor." "Yes." "Then take it. I was not going to dance anyway." She flicked the card into Omaha's lap. The moon crest caught the dock light and held. Real. Omaha tucked it into her jacket and stepped back onto the planks. Marina called after her, softer now. "They will check your name at the gate, cat. And that card is in mine." Omaha stopped. The boat creaked. She had the invitation. She did not have permission to use it.